


Like a Fish Out of Water

by Jaylee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Invaders (Marvel), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), like Namor's amnesia, my attempt to bring Namor into the MCU, set in MCU using comic references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9582707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaylee/pseuds/Jaylee
Summary: “You know I’m human too, right? Maybe not your average guy, but a human nonetheless.”“I've been trying not to hold that against you."Or...Steve 'saves' Namor, Namor 'saves' Steve right back, and Namor has a thing for blonds.





	

 

* * *

“Don’t do it, man,” Sam warned, shooting Steve an irritated look. “Homeless or not, that guy could recognize you. Recognize both of us. Maybe he’s seen our faces on a newspaper somewhere.”

And yeah, okay, Sam had a point. Crossing into the States was risky enough as it was. It was a miracle that the alias Steve was using, one established during his SHIELD days, hadn’t been leaked with the others, that he still had a working passport. Natasha had had to drum one up for Sam. Thus one dye job and two beard growths later, here they were, risking their lives by even stepping foot on American soil. But coming here had been necessary. They needed to search Karpov’s house, needed to clear Bucky’s name, clear them all…

“You know I lived through the Great Depression, right?” Steve asked, letting out a breath he’d been holding, his exhale turning white in the cold. He hunched a little, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as if that would somehow miraculously make him warmer. Lord, how he hated the goddamn cold. European winters during the war had been their own form of torture, and they’d left their imprint on him forevermore, even for someone whose serum-enhanced body was flushed with the metabolism of a jack rabbit. “I know what it feels like to starve, to be impoverished. Neither are very fun. The least we could do is get some food in him.”

Sam snorted, shook his head - his good nature warring with his common sense. Eventually, as Steve knew it would, the good nature won out. Steve could tell the very moment Sam acquiesced. He held back a smile. Damn, but he adored Sam Wilson.

They both turned to eye the subject of their conversation. A younger man, by the looks of it. Maybe around Steve’s actual cognitive age, ice years notwithstanding. He had a beard, and matted hair, as if he hadn’t seen a razor or a pair of scissors in years. He’d been sitting outside the diner Steve and Sam were about to catch a bite in, surrounded by a small pile of weathered blankets and a spare set of clothes. The entire picture he made broke Steve’s heart. It would have been a familiar scene in Brooklyn’s 1930’s era... Steve liked it even less now. You’d think in seventy years this country he’d fought to protect with everything in him could have made more stringent strides into caring for its people, ensuring that things like this didn’t happen. If wishes were horses...

Steve shook his head, forcing himself to compartmentalize. Help this one guy, complete the mission, clear their names, put more energy into caring for the homeless situation later. If there was one fact that remained true from the 1940’s till now… saving the world always began with a single step.

Even stumbling across the guy had been a fluke. They shouldn’t be outside, shouldn’t be out among the public, but after days of hiding Steve would gladly donate all non-essential organs, and maybe even the essential ones, for something hot. He couldn’t choke down another protein bar if he tried – they made MRE’s seem delightful by comparison. But eating out was risky enough; inviting a third-party, though, that was just asking for trouble.

Still, there was something about this particular stranger. The way he sat, posture straight, chin high, exuding a kind of arrogance that this sort of lifestyle should have long since worn out of him. Steve was intrigued. And his instincts were whispering to him, becoming insistent. There was something about this man…

Beside him Sam sighed.

“Fine, invite the dude in with us for lunch. We’ll get a hot meal in him, give him some of the cash we have on hand, maybe he can at least find a warm bed somewhere for at least one night, and then we get the hell out of here and do what we came to do. Agreed?”

“Yes,” Steve nodded, still focused on their mystery man. He took a tentative step closer, put his hands out, palms out, the universal sign of _I mean you no harm_. The man watched him with unreadable eyes and made no move to flinch away or signify that Steve’s advance scared him in any way, so Steve kept on moving slowly until he was right in front of him before crouching down, hands on knees, so that they were closer to eye level.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, the homeless man’s face blank until he raised a single eyebrow, as if to say, _What do you want_. Steve smiled at that, relieved to see some spirit in the guy. Spirit was good. Spirit was always good. It meant the streets hadn’t broken him.

“My buddy and I were about to head into that diner, right there,” Steve pointed, using the kindest, most trustworthy inflection he had, the one he usually reserved for hospital visits and memorial ceremonies while he’d been Captain America, “and we were wondering if you would join us. I’d like to buy you lunch.”

The man was silent for a moment, staring Steve down. It was odd, Steve had been stared down by backstreet bullies, by decorated generals, by Schmidt, by a chaotic Norse god with more than one screw loose... but with this guy, it felt like he was looking into Steve’s very soul. And if his sneer was anything to go by, he found Steve wanting. Steve tilted his head and raised his chin, defiant, because he never did take well to people underestimating him, even the ones he was trying to help. He wasn’t about to start now.

The homeless man smirked at Steve’s defiance, the ends of his lips tilting upwards in obvious amusement. And for a moment, just a second, Steve was transfixed, because the smirk transformed the man’s face into something that seemed less vacant and more… natural. Charismatic.

“Why?” the stranger asked, tone mild and slightly mocking, as if this conversation already bored him. In many circumstances Steve would have been totally done with offering help then and there. What an arrogant asshole. But then again, Steve reminded himself, he hadn’t exactly been open to charity either, back when he’d been small and sick and poor. He’d had way too much pride. It’s not like he had any ground to stand on to judge others for it. Steve forcibly swallowed his irritation.

The guy was probably expecting a boy scout answer. And as Captain America, Steve had been more than used to giving exactly that kind of response. So used to it that he could don the persona like a second skin and answer in that humble, all-american, sweet-as-apple-pie way even in his sleep. But he wasn’t Captain America just then, so he’d go with blunt honesty instead. Something told him the man before him would appreciate that.

“I’m the only child of a single parent who worked so hard to keep food on the table that exhaustion eventually contributed, in a large part, to her death. I like to feed people, it’s probably genetic.”

Steve heard Sam snort behind him (and a muttered, “Jesus Christ, Steve”), but kept his gaze centered on their wayward stranger, whose answering grin transformed his face yet again.

“Very well,” the man replied, dark eyes dancing. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Conversation was as stilted as it could be if one were to take two fugitives (wanted by - well, everybody) and a homeless man, and put them together in a diner that served greasy burgers on chipped plates. With coffee that tasted like it had been sitting on the warmer all day and thus had a consistency that could rival tar. As someone who really didn’t like to talk much unless his position as an authority required it, Steve was usually absolutely a-okay with silence. Words were awkward and did little to sum up the depth of a man’s feelings, but silence was golden. Comforting even, especially around people he trusted.

This was the exact opposite of comfortable. Still, he waited until their new friend was mostly done with his meal before attempting to strive for something less stilted and more openly curious.

“So what’s your name?” Steve asked, watching the stranger dab at his mouth with a napkin. Whoever their mystery man was, he had excellent table manners that seemed ingrained. He had to have been well-raised…

The mystery surrounding him deepened.

“I do not know,” the man said, voice short, shooting Steve a look that dared him to judge him for it.

Far from judging, however, Steve gave a little start, alarmed. Next to him, Sam leaned forward, looking more closely at their guest.

“Amnesia?” Sam said, concerned. “Do you remember if you served? Because TBI, traumatic brain injury, is fairly common among veterans. Somewhere on the upswing of 20% of vets have it. And unfortunately, being… displaced, once returning home, is also common.”

“I do not _know_ ,” the stranger repeated, growing even more visibly annoyed, his hands grasping the edge of the table in frustration.

Steve reached out instinctively - to pat the guy’s hand, offer comfort, heartbroken for him. As his arm moved across the table he knocked down his water-glass and a salt shaker in front of it, the combination of salt and water moving swiftly across the table until it touched their guest’s hand before any of them could react quick enough to grab a napkin.

If Steve hadn’t lived through Red Skulls, alien invasions, and demonic robots out to render humanity extinct, what happened next would have shocked him. But as soon as the salt water touched the other man his posture straightened, his eyes glowing for a brief second, all of it so fast that if Steve had blinked he would have missed it, and an aura of power shrouded him.

“Wait, what just happened?” Steve heard Sam ask beside him, but Steve did not take his eyes off the stranger in front of them, a stranger whose countenance now portrayed a look of understanding… and anger? Horror? Disgust? Just what the hell was the guy remembering?! Whatever it was, it didn’t seem particularly pleasant.

“I think,” Steve said, quietly so as not to attract the attention of the bored waitress who had served them, keeping his gaze steady and fixed, “that our enhanced friend here just got his memory back.”

Steve’s mind started working overtime to put the puzzles together, going over every possible scenario. The mystery man was powerful. Steve felt it - felt that power. And the water had somehow… awoken that.

No.

Not just the water, the salt had to have made the difference, Steve thought, because the odds that the guy had not been in contact with water the entire time he was homeless were minimal. Rain was a thing. So was the occasional public restroom sink. So it stood to reason, then, that the combination of water _and_ salt had done the trick…

Unbidden, Steve suddenly thought of the sea.

He felt rather than heard Sam suck in a quiet breath, and the stranger smiled like a shark.

“The name,” the man announced, head tilted haughtily, “is Namor. And I believe we should take this conversation elsewhere.”

Namor. Steve played with the name in his head, turned it over and around. Different, certainly - he’d never heard anything quite like it before - but also strangely fitting, considering he’d never met any _person_ quite like Namor, either. He supposed a ‘Bob’ or a ‘John’ would have been ridiculous.

…Wait a minute. N-a-m-o-r. Roman, spelled backwards. Which meant that Namor’s parents, whoever they were, _what_ ever they were, had an interesting sense of humor. The question remained, however; was this Namor friendly or hostile? He’d looked awfully angry when his memories returned, so the latter option seemed to look likelier by the minute.

Steve’s muscles tensed, ready to fight if necessary, but he nodded his consent to Namor’s request nonetheless. What else could he do at this point? They were all in now, and Steve’s curiosity wouldn't be staved off by any other means. That was his rationality and he was sticking to it. Sam had informed Steve on more than one occasion that he had the self-preservation instincts of a lemming, no need to ruin his reputation.

Before getting to his feet, Steve threw a quick glance to Sam, meeting his gaze as Sam gave a brief nod of support, despite the concern in his eyes. If it came down to it, Sam would have his back. Help him fight whatever this was going to be.

If it came down to that.

With a little bit of trepidation, Steve left money on the table to cover the bill and followed their new pal out the door, Sam right behind him.

In retrospect, not a good call.

Steve barely had time for his eyes to adjust from the fluorescent light of the diner to the bright afternoon sun before he felt arms encase him, his body being lifted - into the air?!

_What_?

Steve struggled, trying to get out of Namor’s grasp, but the other man’s hold on him constricted to the point that even Steve’s serum-enhanced body couldn’t fight it. Steve mentally added super strength to the list of powers he was accumulating in his head to associate with his newfound enemy. Well, great. An inhumanly strong sea-person was abducting him. A sea-person who could, for some strange reason, also fly. After a Civil War had disbanded the Avengers. After some idiot had appointed Thaddeus Ross as Secretary of State, the same Ross who was currently after them. After his best friend from childhood - his brother-in-arms - had been framed for a crime he didn’t commit and had a kill order on his head.

Jesus fucking Christ, this _year_.

Honestly, what was next? An invasion of body imposters? A giant purple people eater visiting Earth to kill half the population? What?!

With Sam left shouting below them, Steve and Namor went higher and higher. Steve had no choice but to hold on for dear life and brace himself for whatever came next. Were it not for the air whisking by them at speeds that made it difficult to even breathe, let alone talk, Steve might’ve had a thing or two to say of the chewing out variety just then, but unfortunately that would have to wait. At Steve’s tightening grip, the arms around him lessened their own inexorable pressure just a little, and the creature, Namor, shot him an almost tender look before returning his sights to wherever it was they were flying.

Tender. Okay, then. A strong, flying, Steve-abducting sea-person who may have a bit of a thing for him. Either that, or the waitress had slipped something serum-resistant into his food and Steve was hallucinating. Jesus fucking Christ, his _life_.

It seemed like forever before they landed on a secluded beach somewhere, Namor setting him down gently as he took a step back, and looked Steve up and down. The sound of the surf surrounded them like a chorus while Steve readied to unleash the tirade Namor had more than fairly earned, by Steve’s estimation. But as he opened his mouth to do just that, Namor smirked at him, eyes sparkling in amusement.

“You know, you’re even more beautiful when flushed with righteous indignation,” the abnormally strong, flying sea-person said. And Steve quickly shut his mouth, momentarily shocked.

Momentarily.

Just a split second, really, and Steve dared anyone to say otherwise.

...then he opened it again.

“Trust me buddy, ‘indignation’ doesn’t begin to cover it. Where the hell do you get off just up and grabbing me from the street?”

“I have a thing for blonds,” Namor said dryly, arms folded, unconcerned.

“Well, I have a thing for, oh, I don’t know. How about _not being abducted_ , for starters,” Steve snapped. “Sam is probably worried sick!”

Namor paused, tilting his head.

“I take it the other gentleman was your... boyfriend, then?” Namor said, sounding genuinely curious. As if it were a normal day and they were having an entirely normal conversation. As if this entire situation was standard procedure. A Tuesday.

The. Nerve.

“Not that it’s _any_ of your business, but no. He’s just a really, really good friend,” Steve said, glaring. “The kind of friend who would worry if, for instance, his buddy was snatched up in front of his eyes and flown away to God knows where. We’re tight like that.”

Just why was he not punching this guy already? Oh, right, because who knew what other super secret powers the guy possessed. Best to bide his time to figure that bit out before throwing the punch that promised to be ever-so-satisfying.

“Anyway, what if somebody saw you flying through the sky like the world’s strangest albatross?”

Namor looked affronted by the very thought that Steve doubted his abducting-super-soldiers-off-the-street ability. “I assure you, no one did.”

“But suppose they did?” Steve said. “I’m sure you know that people fear those of us who are enhanced. We’re not exactly popular at the moment. There is a movement going on, as we speak, to either control us or lock us up.”

“Gee, do you mean to say vile humanity is chasing down that which they don’t understand in order to cause harm? Color me shocked,” Namor deadpanned, casually examining his nails. “Someone get the smelling salts, I think I may have the vapors.”

In spite of his frustration, Steve had to hold back a smile at the dryness in Namor's tone. He always did have an appreciation for sarcasm. Damn weaknesses.

“You’re very fortunate, my friend,” Namor continued, “that I’ve just taken you away from that. But do I get thanks? Any form of gratitude? A warm embrace and a smile for my efforts? A handshake. A pledge of undying love and devotion. No, I do not. You’re rather ungrateful, you know that?”

For a few seconds Steve could do little more than stand there and gape like a fish. He wasn't proud of it; in fact, it was downright embarrassing. Captain America was known for his oratorical skills, after all. But how the hell was he supposed to respond to _that_?

Steve’s brain decided to focus on the first part of that monologue because the second part made him want to blush and that just wasn't going to happen. Pride was a thing. But that description of humanity being vile? Oh boy. _That_ he could latch onto.

Steve had the sudden overwhelming urge to defend his species, despite being hunted by members of the same. Granted, Steve was feeling a mite bit defensive as well, and he was self-aware enough to recognize this about himself. So much for the calm, level-headed Captain America. One crazy airborne abduction, and bam, there goes his chill. Still, though...

“What’s going on is bad, yeah, but it’s not the sum of humanity,” Steve said, voice softer. “There’s still beauty in the world. Things worth protecting. Things worth _avenging_. Art. Music. Dance. Love. Laughter. Thai food. Friendship. Brotherhood... Family. I don’t know what you are, or what you want, but the world’s not a bad place in its entirety, the current political climate notwithstanding. And I have to return to it. I have to return so I can clear the names of my friends and myself, and get back to protecting it.”

Namor assessed Steve thoroughly, eyes traveling up and down Steve’s body.

“And that is your job, why?”

“Because I care. Because it's the right thing to do. Because it's the responsibility of the strong to protect those who can't defend themselves,” Steve listed off, “Is that enough for you? Because I can do this all day.”

The edges of Namor’s mouth twitched, as if he were holding back a grin.

“And that is what you do? Protect humanity and feed random strangers off the street?”

“I told you, that last part is genetic,” Steve said, suddenly bashful.

Damn knee-jerk responses. _Bashful_ of all things. Bashful! As if he were a wilting flower.

Namor did smile, then. Genuinely. Beautifully. Wholly attractive for it.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answered honestly. It was undoubtedly a bad call, telling this stranger his real name. But given Namor’s view on humanity, Steve was pretty sure he had no wish to turn Steve over to Ross, so there was that.

“I am Namor the Sub-Mariner,” the other man announced, “Prince of Atlantis.”

He showed no recognition at Steve’s name, which was strangely refreshing. If there was one thing Steve had learned since waking up from the ice - other than don’t read the comments, and that turn signals in vehicles were viewed more as decorative than actually _utilized_ by drivers - was that the 21st century had a really weird obsession with celebrity. And him. He’d rather they didn't.

“Well,” Steve replied, largely unsurprised to meet the equivalent of Poseidon. He lost the ability to do ‘surprised’ somewhere between invading aliens and discovering that a show called ‘The Bachelor’ actually had a viewing audience. “That explains the salt-water, but not so much the amnesia.”

“Atlantis was destroyed by mankind during military testing by your armies,” the Sub-Mariner said, lost in memory. “I don’t think they’re even aware of the damage they wrought, that’s how little concern they showed for what lay beneath the surface. I myself was caught up in one such onslaught, and washed ashore. You see, the longer I’m away from the sea, the weaker I get. I drifted for years, not remembering…”

Those eyes focused back onto Steve, suddenly. “And then there was you, my golden-headed savior. Kind, attractive, and genetically-driven to feed people, apparently.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry about your home and your people, and if there’s anything I can do to help, I will. But I don’t get it. I rescue you, and you decide to, what? Just take me?”

Namor smiled. “I was rescuing you in turn. From humanity.”

And Steve couldn’t help it, he huffed out a laugh at that, charmed - just a little, mind you - despite himself.

“You know I’m human too, right? Maybe not your average guy, but a human nonetheless.”

“I've been trying not to hold that against you,” Namor said with a straight face, and Steve laughed again.

“Art. Music. Love. Friendship. There is beauty in the world,” Steve repeated, once he’d sobered up. “Beauty worth protecting. And I have to do that. Please return me to my friend.”

“Then I shall,” Namor agreed softly, suddenly somber. “But on one condition.”

“Oh?” Steve said, the last remaining bit of his tension giving way to amusement, “what can I, a lowly mortal, possibly offer a sea prince?”

Steve wondered if he should be more concerned than he was by the return of Namor’s shark grin. Instead it made him feel a bit warm. A bit twitchy.

“A kiss.”

Steve smiled back, warmer still. Okay, then. That he could do.

“Deal.”

He’d never kissed a man before, not that he hadn’t thought about it, because oh boy, he had. Thought about it a lot, actually. But Steve was awkward in relationships, and more awkward still when it came to attraction, and he never quite learned the fine art of flirting on a good day. Add to that, most of the kisses he’d shared in his lifetime hadn’t even been initiated by him, save one. The result of this was that people just seemed to assume that he was straight without bothering to ask him his preferences. People tended to make a _lot_ of assumptions about him, actually. Which meant the opportunity to wave the bisexual banner had never come up.

He didn’t mind that streak ending. He watched Namor approach him, dark eyes intense as he memorized Steve’s face before moving closer, their lips a breath apart... Close enough to feel Namor’s heat, his power, his penetrating focus...

...No, he didn’t mind that at all.

And when soft lips met his, reverent yet insistent, strong hands going up to card gently through Steve’s hair and cup his head, Steve thought that perhaps the next time he met the sea prince and one of them saved the other, maybe they could skip the weird abducting thing and just go straight to this part. Because this part was _great_.

Namor deepened the kiss, tongue demanding entry to Steve’s mouth, and Steve closed his eyes to hide the depth of his feelings, not wishing to be that exposed just yet. Letting himself get lost in the moment, in the sensation of being held like this.

He was sure Sam would understand the delay. These kinds of things did happen.

“Stop thinking,” Namor murmured against his lips, “I find it insulting that you could do so now, of all times.”

“Sorry,” Steve whispered back, “trust me when I say that it’s no reflection on you, at all. You’re swell,” and moved closer to resume their kiss.

Once Steve cleared the name of the wayward Avengers, got back to saving the world, and donated some time to helping find a solution to the homeless situation, he was going to join the cause of protecting the oceans.

Great things, the oceans. Wonderful, even. Precious resource and all that. Totally needed saving.

A lot of saving.

...He’d probably have to visit the water _often_.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to 107th for beta'ing this for me and for her valuable input. Thank you to daphnie1 for the constant encouragement. 
> 
> For reference I used the Fantastic Four #4 1962 story where Johnny Storm finds an amnesiac Namor and helps him regain his memory by dunking him in salt water for inspiration on Namor's state when Steve finds him in this story. Figured it would be a good explanation for why Namor hasn't come out of hiding yet within the MCU. ;)


End file.
